


A Quarter Turn

by JimDandy



Series: Souvenir Shotglasses [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pining, Pre-Canon, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:02:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27614570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JimDandy/pseuds/JimDandy
Summary: “Your hair is gettin’ all wet.”  Arthur adjusted the positioning of the hat and stepped back, cigarette still hanging between his lips. Charles reached up to touch it.  It was not Arthur's usual rigid black hat,  this one had a bit of a floppy brim and felt more like thick wool.   Arthur’s warmth lingered underneath it,  and it seeped into him.-------Pre-canon one-shotCan be read as stand alone, but does slightly reference other fics starting with Ten-cent
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Javier Escuella & Bill Williamson, John Marston & Charles Smith
Series: Souvenir Shotglasses [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018951
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56





	A Quarter Turn

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I serialised finally. 
> 
> Another gentle piney interaction, now featuring even more friendship.

Charles sat at the fire, picking through dinner while waiting for the usual evening crew to show up. The Reverend was already passed out and toppled over one of the chairs on the far end of the campfire ring that backed the lake. Grimshaw was fussing to Molly on the state of Dutch’s tent. John, who typically sat across from him, had been coerced into watching Jack for the evening, and instead he milled about doing chores, Jack at his heels. He wondered how long it would be before John managed to wiggle out of this particular obligation.

Charles enjoyed John’s company, which was not something that could be said of very many people, he might go as far as to call him his friend. He was loyal and observant, and had an easy nonchalance that was comfortable to be around. Though not necessarily unintelligent, John was stupidly upfront and was unable to keep quiet. All too often he put his own foot in his mouth, bringing Abigail’s unrelenting anger and Arthur-who always played reluctant- was quite quick to jump in to defend Abigail and berate John when he got too worked up. This only seemed to reinforce John's misconstrued ideas on who fathered Jack, sending him into a quiet spiral of his own despair.

It was a weird dance they played, one that Charles couldn't fathom the end goal to, so he stayed out of it as much a possible. He liked John, he liked Abigail and Jack. He…. liked Arthur, though they never really talked much. He definitely liked watching Arthur with the horses in the morning, always taking extra time with Taima. John had commented once or twice, noticing Charles noticing Arthur, but didn't pry. John was prone himself to staring dreamily off at Abigail as she darned socks, brushed out her hair, or clapped along to campfire songs. He always gave Charles a halfhearted smile and shrug when caught.

As Charles scraped the last bit of food off of his plate, he heard the steady beat of hooves. He stood up to see an odd, polished man with a top hat ride in on a rust-brown appaloosa. Arthur walked out of his tent, along with Hosea, to greet him with a fond pat on the shoulder, a handshake, and a warm “Josiah!” as he dismounted. The three of them quickly retreated back into the tent.

Not long after, as Charles was brushing down Taima for the night, Hosea informed him that he was going out on a job with the man that had ridden into camp that evening. He referred to the man as Trelawny, and laid out the details. It was simple enough, a typical ‘Be the muscle’ job, something Arthur was usually sent out on. When Charles agreed, Hosea gave his have a pat and thanked him.

They departed camp while it was still dark out, the air dewy and brisk now that February was in full swing. The overbearing southwestern heat had persisted far into December, the chill was a welcome change. Trelawny spent the ride chatting, commenting on various observations in camp, different gang members, his travels. He didn't stop until the very second they pulled into a Blackwater back alley at daybreak. All that was asked of Charles was that he stand outside an odd wooden door and wait while Trelawny went inside. And so he did. Few people passed, none made eye contact, and most that ventured down the alley quickly backed up and left the way they came.

The day was dreary and overcast, so around what Charles figured must have been eleven- he judged based on his pile of cigarette stubs and ashes at his feet- he heard the pop of a single muffled gunshot from the room behind him. Trelawny called through the door for to him to stay put, bustling out into the alley a few minutes later and resetting a small pistol into his sleeve.

“Ah, Charles, yes. Perfect. Dear boy, would you so kindly escort me to the docks?” Trelawny adjusted the collar on his coat and rebuttoned the sleeve with the pistol. “Hosea and Arthur should be waiting already. Nasty business, but sometimes a necessity in business. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Charles gave a noncommittal “Mm.” and led him on foot, one hand resting on his shotgun. He wasn’t sure he trusted Trelawny going into the job, knowing the man had a trick pistol was something else entirely. He would never disobey a direct order from the gang, and Hosea and Arthur seemed to be of sound judgement, but there was still just something Charles did not like. He was determined to distance himself from Trelawny as quickly as possible.

He rode back into camp around one, leaving Arthur, Hosea, and Trelawny to scheme some crazy bank robbery. Charles wasn’t really interested in the particulars, robbing banks was a little too showy for his taste, and said as much to the trio as he excused himself. He was thanked by Trelawny and Hosea for a “Splendid job!” and Arthur gave him a small, sad smile as he departed, but said nothing.

Now, sandwiched between Javier and John, he was being coerced into riding back into Blackwater for drinks.

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” Javier promised, slinging an arm over Charles’ shoulders.

“We’ve all been so busy, ain’t none of us had time to unwind. C’mon Charles! Dutch gave us the night off!” John proceeded to elbow Charles’ free arm. Javier and John were both already a few drinks deep after the pair of them had successfully robbed a local gang’s ‘secret’ hideout that morning. They returned with a full keg of moonshine and three-hundred dollars for themselves.

Charles sighed, and wiped a hand over his eyes. “Sure, fine.”

“Wh-where you boys headin’ out to?” Ah, yes. How could Charles forget Javier’s large and belligerent shadow? Bill shuffled up to the three of them, wiping a dirt-covered hand on his already stained shirt.

“Takin’ Charles out to unwind.” Javier mimed drinking. “Why?” Bill stood awkwardly for a few seconds, scratching under his hat.

“Well, the more the … the better, right fellas?” Bill swept his hand around, indicating the three of them, then himself. He waited another few seconds.

“Sure, Bill, you can tag along.” John offered.

“Eh, why not?” Javier shrugged, and Charles did his best not to let out an irritated sigh. He had intended to get at least a little drunk with Javier and John. Throwing Bill into the mix was more than likely to result in the night ending with somebody dead in a ditch somewhere, be it townsfolk or one of them. Bill was insufferable on a good day, of which there were not many. His constant sour drunken stupor, coupled with rude and crude comments, usually left Charles’ hands itching with the need to clamp around Bill’s throat until his breath stopped. He had watched Javier throttle him on more than one occasion for vile comments made in a drunken haze, but somehow the two were regular companions. But again, this was not Charles’ business, so he never brought anything up one way or the other.

As they readied the horses, Javier promised he would keep Bill on his best behavior tonight, so Charles went along with it, even allowing a flask of moonshine to be loaded into Taima’s saddlebag. The last three months with the gang, Charles tried very hard to acclimate to new routines and expectations he had very little experience with. One of which was attempting to be sociable when some of the gang wanted to unwind with drinks, or relax and chat or sing. Charles figured just being present, albeit silently, should suffice and count for something, right?

The day pressed on, and as the winter sun dipped between rain clouds and over the low, rolling hills and canyons of West Elizabeth, the three of them- plus Bill- rode into Blackwater. Charles and John hitched around back, Javier and Bill out front, moonshine sloshing in their twice- over half-empty flasks. Charles had indulged a little…. More than a little, his cheeks looking rosy and feeling warm as he noted his reflection in the dusty glass windows of the Blackwater Saloon. He gave his hair a quick pass with his hands, smoothing the flyaway pieces that had come out of the low tie before following the others inside. Warm, smokey air pressed around them as they entered. Unlike most saloons he had been in, the Blackwater saloon did not have the lingering stale scent of booze and body odor. Instead there was a distinct sharp smell of new paint, the green around the windows looking fresh, mixed with something heavy and floral. Charles wrinkled his nose and wondered which he preferred.

Bill headed to the window alcove by the piano and began pushing tables together, scraping chairs across the floor to make room for all of them to sit together. Charles lingered, standing off by the door, and was surprised when Bill pulled a chair out and stammered “Ch-Charles.” and motioned for him to take a seat near his. Javier waved over a very pretty waitress, who smiled as she bent to take their order. He slung an arm over the back of his chair, and for his already somewhat drunken bluster, still managed to look suave in the way only Javier could pull off.

“My friends and I would like three bottles of your finest whiskey.” His accent always heavier with drink. “And a beer for each of us.” His hand came up to the waitress, and he tricked pulling an entire dollar from behind her ear before gently folding it into her hand with a wink.

She blushed as she walked towards the bar, the hand clutching the dollar held tight to her chest, the other fanning her face.

“I’ll never understand how you do that!” John rasped, his voice getting lost in the glass-clinking, piano playing din of the saloon.

“It helps when you’re just naturally _guapo_ , you know _amigo_?” Javier looked over to John with a smirk while smoothing his moustache, John stared at him.

“Why am I sure you just insulted me?”

The waitress returned quickly, placing full glass mugs of beer in front of each of them, she leaned in noticeably closer to Javier, brushing his arm as she set his glass down. He smiled at her again and whispered something in he ear in Spanish. Charles was positive she didn't understand the words, but the context, even from across the table, was quite clear to everyone. She left the whiskey bottles and excused herself, deeply flushed.

“Ah, Javier,” Bill grumbled. “you know none of us speak that shit.”

“I know. _You_ barely speak coherent English.” Charles choked as he went to take a drink of beer. They had all started to chuckle at Bill, but it turned to full on laughter at Charles. He sputtered and coughed through his laughing.

John suddenly perked up across from him, and gave a single hand in a mock wave to someone outside. The front door behind Charles burst open, and a loud “Boys!” cut into the noise. A very young, thin man, with shoulder length red hair dashed up to their table.

“Sean!” Bill shouted, throwing his arms up, sloshing everyone with beer.

“Ain’t you lot a sight fer sore eyes! Ah, John, Javier, I could kiss ye!” The man threw his arms around the back of John’s chair, his hands snaking around John to grab a mug of beer off of the table.

“An’ jus’ where the hell have you been, Sean?” John tried to bat Sean’s hands away from his beer glass, irritated.

“Lost, wasn’t I? Months, and none of you righteous fuck hero types came lookin’ fer me! I’d be damned near insulted if I gave a rats arse.” He succeeded in grabbing the mug and pulled it up to his nose for a sniff. “Got separated from Arthur when some bounty hunters rounded on us. Las’ time I ever go with Micah out on a job, bastard’s thicker than shite an’ half as handy.” Sean ignored John’s weak protest and downed the mug of beer in one go.

“How’d you find us now?” Javier leaned back in his chair, pulling his beer mug in close to his chest and away from Sean.

“Some kid that’s been runnin’ jobs fer me, an’ I guess Trelawny, made the connection. Brought me in t’Arthur hours ago…. Who’s this?” He stuck a thumb out, gesturing to Charles. Brief introductions were made, and Sean pulled another chair over next to Charles, flipping it around to sit with his arms draped over the backing.

“Where is Arthur anyway? Thought I saw him walk in with you.” John asked.

“That sullen bastard?” Sean wrestled the wax and cap of a whiskey bottle with his teeth. “You’ll look for a spoil sport like ‘im, but not for good ol’ Sean, eh?”

“Unlike you, we actually tolerate Arthur. Mostly.” John snatched the whiskey bottle from Sean, prying it open.

“Aye, that so? Surprised the Missus is _toleratin_ ’ you bein’ out tonight, Marston.” Sean challenged with a wicked grin, grabbing the now liberated bottle of whiskey and taking a healthy swig.

“Surprised he’s lettin’ you drink that bottle and not puttin’ it through your eye, MacGuire.” Came Arthur’s deep voice from behind Charles, and it made his heart skip. He grabbed for his beer and drank until he was breathless. He held the glass up to Sean, who obliged and tipped a bit of whiskey into the bottom.

Arthur was holding a beer bottle and a plate of what appeared to be dessert. He nudged Sean, who hopped out of the chair and over to the bar to purchase more alcohol for all of them. Arthur pulled the chair around with his leg to sit in it properly, and settled between Charles and Bill. They looked odd, as they were all rather large men, squished up against the alcove windows. Charles’ head felt a little fuzzy, he wasn't a lightweight, but he didn't normally drown himself in liquor. The flask- or two- of moonshine, pint of beer, and however much whiskey Sean had poured into his glass was taking its toll.

Arthur’s arm bumped Charles’ as he settled in, clearing room for his plate. Charles took another drink of his whiskey, and propping his face in his palm, swiveled to look at Arthur. It was a slice of lemon pie he had gotten, it glistened sunny yellow in their dark corner of the saloon, a hearty serving of cream piled on the side.

“Drink now, do ya?” Arthur asked forking a bite of pie and cream, and sticking it in his mouth. Normally Charles was better at this, looking stoic and reigning in his constant want to stare at Arthur, but everything felt a bit too jumbled, his better judgement switched off. He felt himself smile up at Arthur, feeling very daring, grabbed a piece of crust that had fallen off of the pie and tossed it in his own mouth. If Charles had been a little more sober, he might’ve thought more of the way Arthur's eyes drifted to his mouth as he chewed, his cheeks tinged with pink.

“Sometimes.” Charles heard himself say, then felt another smile tug at his scars. His face felt hot

“You’re quite silly drunk.” Arthur eyed him suspiciously and pulled his plate out of reach, which made Charles let out a small laugh. He hadn’t counted on being drunk in front of Arthur, at this rate he was bound to make a damn fool of himself. Using every ounce of will his mind allowed, he turned away, letting Arthur finish his pie in peace. He let his mind drift, well, not let, it did its own drifting. He closed his eyes, the buzz and warmth of the alcohol letting him float. He thought of that porch again, of warm spring sunshine. Golden hair running through his fingers. What it would feel like to laugh together. Or Arthur’s cautious hands on Charles, skin to skin. He hummed and flicked at the hair that had come loose from his tie and rested on the table.

The rest of the gang dispersed after several more rounds of drink. Charles nursed one last beer, Javier had the waitress from earlier pressed up against a wall on the second floor, Sean and John had taken to the bar, Bill was playing poker. Arthur was…. Where was Arthur? Charles stood up stretching, his back and legs popping. He looked around for several minutes, then across to John, only to find him pointing to the side door. Charles must’ve given him a puzzled look, because he yelled “Arthur.” over the roar of the saloon, and pointed to the side door again. Charles gave him a half wave in acknowledgement.

Cold air sucked past him as he exited. The quiet outside was deafening compared to the noise inside, the soft patter of rain and a far off cobble of horses hooves on the brick road felt like a breath of fresh air. He stood under the awning, buttoning up his coat. He was glad he chose one of his nicer ones- grey herring bone and only missing a few buttons. He shook his head, trying to fight off the last few bits of fog from his mind as he stepped out into the rain. It felt cold enough to be snowing, but the rain persisted, slicing down his scalp and setting chill into his hair and neck.

He rounded to the hitching posts, nearly tripping over a bucket someone left too far from the spigot. Boadicea and Taima leaned against one another, keeping each other warm. Apparently Arthur had hitched Boadicea between Taima and John’s horse, Old Boy. While Taima now tolerated being around the other horses, Arthur was still the only person allowed to touch her. Boadicea snorted as Charles walked up, her breath floating around her face like smoke in the cold. He reached up to pat her neck and between her eyes as he complimented her. Taima leaned over to delicately chew at Charles’ hair, a new bad habit she had picked up from Arthur.

“Taima.” Charles warned quietly, and heard Arthur's low chuckle to his right. He turned slightly.

Arthur sat atop the seat of a broken down wagon in the empty lot behind the saloon, illuminated pale gold by the streetlamp. Rain caught in the glow around him, and dripped off of his downward tilted hat brim, his cigarette smoke rolling in the quiet surroundings. Charles did not have enough presence of mind to look away, his heart thumping in his throat as Arthur pushed off from the seat to walk between the horses, standing with the hitching post between them. He patted Boadicea’s while blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” Arthur coughed and placed his cigarette back between his lips. “at least you had the sense to wear a coat.”

“What?” Charles gave as his very intelligent response. Arthur’s mouth quirked before he plucked the hat from his head and dropped it on Charles’.

“Your hair is gettin’ all wet.” Arthur adjusted the positioning of the hat and stepped back, cigarette still hanging between his lips. Charles reached up to touch it. It was not Arthur's usual rigid black hat, this one had a bit of a floppy brim and felt more like thick wool. Arthur’s warmth lingered underneath it, and it seeped into him.

“I…” Charles began, but paused. He felt jittery, his stomach rolling. Arthur had moved off to fish in his saddle bag, pulling his usual hat out seconds later and returning it to its rightful pace on his head. He fidgeted with the brim.

“Trelawny don’t think my hat looks… ‘refined’ enough for polite comp’ny, so I usually keep a spare or two, ‘specially when it’s him an’ Hosea. I’m surprised I ain’t dressed up in some damn pressed shirt and tie. ”

“Thanks.”

“Don' mention it.” Arthur huffed out smoke, throwing the last bit of his cigarette down and toeing it out. He headed back towards the saloon, and Charles scrambled for something to say. He hated this. Hated how much he needed to make conversation in Arthur's presence.

“Do you.” He said, a little too quickly, and Arthur paused. “Do you fancy yourself a rancher?”

“Come again?”

“When this ‘last job’ is finally done, and you all buy that land in the west.” Charles took a step back to lean on the hitching post. Taima’s face moved to rest on his shoulder and he scratched at her absently. Arthur turned to him. “What are you going to do? The thought of you settling down to be a ranching man is….”

“Don't know.” Arthur admitted after a long pause. He shrugged. “We ain't never been this close to it before. I never let myself think about what happens after, just what I gotta do to get us there.” He scratched at his chin, and Charles hummed in response. “You sound like you ain't comin’ with us?”

“I’ve thought about it. I guess I feel a little like it’s not my place. Like I haven’t done the work to merit getting to go play rancher in bliss.” Charles couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. He hoped he didn’t sound desperate, or pathetic.

“You that hung up on us ranchin’?” Arthur gave another hint of a crooked smile. Charles felt chills sweep across his arms and neck, not from the cold. “Charles, you know you do more work than most people in camp combined. Hell, Sean’s a damn lazy layabout, and he’s got a place, so does Uncle, Bill, Micah-God knows why. ‘Course we got room for you.”

Charles laughed again and smirked. “Thanks for the comparison, I'm honored to be counted among Bill and Uncle.”

“Oh, shut up, you know what I’m gettin’ at.” Arthur shifted his weight onto his other leg anxiously, uncomfortably. “If it uh… if you’re that … put out by it, I could use your help plannin’ this bank bustin’ job.” Arthur averted his eyes.

“Sure, I’ll do it.” Charles crossed his arms in front of his chest, staring at Arthur.

“Good. I need a good point man, and you're very… more than capable.” Charles waited. Arthur took a deep breath, as if to add something else.

He shifted again, uncomfortable, then tipped his hat.

“’Night Mister Smith-… Charles.”

“’Night Arthur.” Charles watched him leave. Boadicea perked her ears and pulled her reigns from the hitch, and after throwing Charles a look, trotted after Arthur. He could hear Sean and Javier as they spilled out of the bar, singing some bawdy tune, John’s raucous laughter, and Bill hollering for them to wait for him. At least Charles was sober enough now to make sure they all got home safe.

He reached up again to touch the hat and felt something under the brim. He pulled, and produced an odd ragged square of fabric. He tilted it into the light, his pulse suddenly drowning out all noise. It had the faintest faded imprints of painted flowers around the edges, and frayed threads that had once held beads. He closed his eyes and gently tucked it into his sleeve.

**Author's Note:**

> I am mostly using these to segway into a fic I wrote months and months ago and never intended to be connected, but now here we are. Im also a sucker for small interactions that go nowhere, so there's also that.


End file.
